Ignoring the Truth
by Vienna Warren
Summary: ***SPOILERS for SEASON EIGHT of "House, M.D."!*** "When the cancer starts getting really bad..." "Cancer's boring." House interjected, putting on his motorcycle helmet. Ignoring the truth was definitely easier than coming to terms with it.
1. Chapter 1

**AN** - Hey guys! I'm back from the dead (again). If you're wondering why I wrote this fic, it's because I needed a way of coping after the House, M.D. season eight finale. Hopefully, this story helps you all cope as well.

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**Disclaimer:** I do not own House, M.D. nor any of the plots, characters or quotes belonging to the show. Thanks.

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Ignoring the truth was definitely easier than coming to terms with it, for both men. After months of travelling through the country, James Wilson had become to weak to safely drive his motorcycle by himself. House accepted it and ditched the thing on the side of the road, allowing Wilson to climb on the back of House's and hold on for dear life. Together they rode for weeks more, until they were in some small town smack in the middle of Kentucky. It was a wake up call for both of them.

As House, eyes locked straight ahead, zoomed on, Wilson felt a wave of fatigue and dizziness hit him. Before he could open his mouth, he was falling. House felt his friend's arms loosen from around his waist and immediately slowed the bike. "Wilson!"

"_Uhh!_" The air rushed out of the former oncologist's lungs as he made harsh contact with the dirt road beneath him. The motorcycle's engine growled to a stop. "_Wilson!_"

"'M okay."

House limped as fast as his leg would allow him, not even remembering to wince in pain. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tried..." Wilson gasped, his voice a mere whisper. "Sorry..."

"No, it's not your fault. You're okay, we'll walk."

Wilson didn't argue as House wrenched him to his feet, then put a strong, guiding hand on his hip. He slung an arm over House's shoulder and the two hobbled along. They had barely walked a mile before Wilson was panting and out of breath. "House..." he groaned before breaking off into a coughing fit. His lungs were on fire and he was convinced he was coughs away from hacking up blood or worse, a lung.

"Shhh, hey." He rubbed Wilson's back, then practically dragged him off the road once the coughing had subsided. House used his left leg to kick in the picket fence, which snapped fairly easily. It must've been at least fifty years old, he supposed. "Wilson? Can you hear me?"

House started breathing again once he saw Wilson nod, though weak. _Thank God._ "Listen, there's an abandoned farmhouse up there, see it? That's where we'll go. It's not that far, I'd say, maybe a hundred or so yards. We're just going to climb that little hill across the field and we'll be there."

They hobbled on, Wilson's constant coughing keeping House alert and ready. Wilson could see the barn at the top of the grassy hill, but his chest burned and ached with an unbearable pain. Finally, he gave in.

"House. I can't..." He took a raspy breath before attempting to continue. "Can't make it."

"No, we can-" House thought better of arguing and instead nodded. "Okay, don't worry about it. Just sit." He gingerly eased his friend to the ground. "Lie on your back; it'll open up your lungs."

"Won't be... much help... now." Wilson chuckled, then instantly regretted it as his chest protested. "_Ah!_" A sharp intake of breath made House go pale.

"How long have you had severe chest pain?"

"'While."

"Of course you didn't tell me." Before Wilson could open his mouth, House spoke up. "And don't apologise again. Here." He shook out a couple Vicodin into the palm of his hand and offered them to his friend.

"N-no. You're..." More hacking. "Almost out."

"For God's sake, shut up." He put the pills in Wilson's mouth and eased the tip of his water bottle to his cracked, dry lips. "Drink." When water dribbled down his chin, Wilson scoffed. "So... humiliating."

"I've seen you naked, remember? Big boy diapers, too. You're lucky you have me to do these kinds of things."

Wilson nodded. "I know. Thank you, House." He paused before continuing. "I'm so... tired."

"You wouldn't be if you'd stop trying to talk for awhile."

"I always pictured myself... surrounded by family... on my deathbed." Wilson smiled weakly. "I'm glad... I got divorced so many times. They were never... there for me. But you..." He coughed, grimacing in pain. "You were."

"Save your energy." House reprimanded him. "Don't speak."

"It's... nice." Wilson pointed out, staring up at the sky. House just nodded. It _was_ nice. The sun was setting beautifully, melting into the earth with hues of orange and yellow. The distant hum of cicadas blended into the background and toads were beginning to croak, searching out mates. The light breeze ruffled Wilson's hair and cooled his fevered skin.

House crossed his legs and plucked a few blades of grass, letting them go and watching the direction of the wind blow. He needed a damn good distraction, anything to save him from this emotional agony that was starting to show. Vicodin, preferably, but Wilson was right; he only had one left.

"It's gone."

It took House a second to understand that Wilson was talking about the sun. Indeed, it had disappeared behind the farmhouse and the sky had gone from orange to a hazy purple in a matter of moments, it seemed.

"My neck..." Wilson could hardly get two words out before his lungs betrayed him again.

"Okay, okay." House shifted his position, still cross-legged, and lightly placed Wilson's head in his lap.

"Thank you." He sighed in relief.

"Yeah."

"Ugh... I'm s-so cold, H-House." His teeth chattered, yet beads of sweat formed on his brow.

"It's the fever, dammit."

As Wilson shivered, House shrugged out of his leather jacket. "Here."

"It's g-gonna get... c-cold."

"Looks like you're already at that stage."

House draped the jacket over Wilson's shaking form and sighed. "This should help a little."

"Everything h-hurts."

Instinctively, House reached for his Vicodin container but Wilson shook his head. "It w-won't h-help." He took a ragged breath and groaned.

"Shh, hey. Look. You can see the stars already. Guess that's because we're in the middle of nowhere."

Wilson smiled weakly. "Yeah. I don't... really know any..."

"Constellations? Huh. My, uh, dad taught me some when I was younger." House pointed upwards at a row of twinkling stars. "See? That's the handle of the Big Dipper. And Orion's right over there. To be honest, I don't really remember any more."

"'S okay." Wilson mumbled, his eyelids feeling heavy. "House I'm... tired."

"Don't fall asleep!" House said quickly, louder than he intended to. He watched his friend struggle to stay awake. "You can't leave me right now. I... I don't want to be alone." His voice cracked but he didn't care.

It was dark out so House didn't see the single tear that leaked from Wilson's eye. "I'm so... sorry, House. I need you... to tell..." He coughed painfully. "Tell me..."

"No, no, no. You're my best friend, Wilson. I... don't leave me, please."

"You're a good... person... House." Wilson whispered before the life faded out of him. Wilson died, laying with his head in House's lap, near an abandoned barn. The starry night sky was the last thing he saw before he took his last breath.

House brushed back the sweaty bangs from his friend's forehead. "Wilson, no. No, no, no... Please, don't. D-don't."

And for the first time in his life, House was really, truly alone.


	2. Chapter 2

AN - Last chapter. Thanks for reading, everyone! Hope you got some relief out of that... writing it gave me a bit of clarity after such an intense season finale!

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He didn't want to feel anything.

As House walked through the night, he shivered. He'd left his jacket with Wilson and the temperatures had dropped drastically. Aside from being cold, his leg ached, his head was pounding and he was nauseous. He wanted Wilson.

The man continued on down the road, spotting lights ahead. Not headlights, no, but the lights of a city or town at least. Thank God. Just what he was looking for. A pub or bar or whorehouse; it didn't matter. They'd all numb him in some way or another, which was the goal he had in mind. Eventually, a car stopped and offered to drive him the rest of the way into town; the driver looked about twenty and judging by his smile, he was sympathetic to cripples.

"This is fine." House spoke up after they'd been driving for about two minutes.

The young man raised an eyebrow. "Here? You sure mister? This part of town ain't exactly some place you'd wanna be walkin' alone. 'Less you have a shank or somethin', there's a good chance of you gettin' jumped."

"Thanks for the ride." he said dismissively. The car obediently slowed to a stop in front of a bar.

"Look out for yourself."

House slammed the door and limped towards the door of the bar. The driver was right; it was trashy, even for the type of establishment that it was. The unmistakable stench of urine and vomit hung in the air like smoke. People shouting, cackling and talking noisily added to House's headache and he silently wished for everything to just... stop.

He dragged himself over to a barstool and climbed on it, waiting for the bartender to come to his side. When he didn't, House slammed his hand on the countered and raised his voice. "Hey!"

"What?" The bartender's voice was husky and thick.

"Get me a beer."

A bottle of the cheapest beer came sliding down the counter and House caught it in his hand just in time. He'd downed the thing in less than five minutes, earning an impressed look from the man seated next to him.

"Rough night with the wife?" he guessed, trying to make conversation.

"Shut the fuck up."

"Sorry, man. Christ."

House thought for a second, sipping his second drink. He turned back to the stranger. "Hey... you know where I could find something... a little stronger than drinks?"

"Like... dust?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of heroin."

The man raised an eyebrow and lowered his voice a bit, despite the volume inside. "I know a guy."

"Of course you do. Could you give me his number?"

"Hell naw. Here." He snatched a napkin and scribbled an address. "Here's were you need to be. You better be able to pay full, in cash."

"Thank you." House told him, taking the napkin and putting a few bills on the counter.

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The address led House to a small motel with flickering, half-functioning lights that gave the parking lot an eerie glow. He knocked on the appropriate door and waited until a figure opened it. "What?"

"I want a hit."

The man casually glanced around the vacant lot, checking for bystanders. "You got cash?"

"Enough." House flashed a couple of bills in the dim light and the man nodded.

"Okay." He coughed a bit before holding his hand out. House shook it, feeling for the plastic bag, then traded him the money. The door slammed in his face not long after.

House rented a room, never minding the time of night it was, and sighed as soon as he was alone, by himself.

A single bed with sheets beckoned him in the corner and across from it was a cable television. Though the bed had some mysterious stains, House kicked off his shoes and climbed onto it. He shook the bag onto the sheets and examined the contents that tumbled out. Everything looked in order.

With the ease of someone's who had done it millions of times, he tied off his arm and pumped his fist a couple of times, watching as a vein bulged out; a perfect target. The needle slid into his vein smoothly and as he injected himself with the drug, he couldn't help but let out a moan. He let himself fall back into the bed, ignoring the putrid smell of the room itself. House's mouth went completely dry as a trembling wave of euphoria washed over him. His eyes widened involuntarily and his lungs forced another gasp out of him. Everything sped up before it stopped.

His muscles were on fire, burning, burning... House's jaw went slack before his body began seizing uncontrollably. Nobody called a code and nobody brought in a crash cart.

When House became aware of reality again, things were much different. Not so bright, not so loud. And nothing hurt. Instinctively, he reached down to rub his leg and was pleasantly surprised to feel no pain.

"You're not going to feel anything."

House's eyes flicked towards the voice. Wilson stood there, staring down at him sprawled out on the bed, and shook his head disapprovingly. House stared, unblinkingly. This was some shitty high.

"You're self-destructive. And manipulative."

Ah, well. He might as well play along with his hallucinations. "Gee, anything else?"

"Yeah. And an ass."

"Wilson?"

"Yeah?"

"This isn't a hallucination, is it?"

Wilson shook his head again. "No. Sorry, House." He gave his friend a small smile before extending a hand. "You coming?"

House nodded, sitting up and clasping his friend's hand firmly. "Yeah. Thanks, Wilson."

Wilson only grinned as they walked on together.


End file.
